Pretend
by SVU.Smile
Summary: She is careful to pretend like nothing is wrong, everything is fine. But no one can hear her screaming." I suck at summaries. R&R. Angst-y? More like "other". My first fic.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Hello all = My very first time doing anything like this

**A/N: Hello all = My very first time doing anything like this. Heh. So stick with me. Never written fan fic, but I love reading it and decided it was time I tried one. Reviews are wonderful. = Most likely will not be a one shot, but that depends on reader feedback! Any all criticism is welcome.**

**Spoilers: none, really.**

**Disclaimer: If I were Dick Wolf, would I really be sitting here spinning fan fiction? I think not. things would be a looooot different if I were, though. XD**

**Pretend**

She thinks about things.

She thinks about things, and how they have changed her. How they have made her a little bit stronger, angrier, older. How they appear more and more in the curve of her neck, lining her motions as she struggles to get through the hours, one at a time.

_Just a few more minutes,_ she tells herself. _And I will be free._

But these are lies, and she knows it. She's got lies coming every which way out of her ass, and they're so tangled and convoluted she doesn't even know where to begin the untangling, doesn't even know where to begin the explanation.

She is never truly free, and will never be. The demons chase her shadow, line the clouds in the mornings and haunt her dreams as she tosses and turns. She knows this. Move on.

She cares too much, enough for the both of them. Hell, she cares enough for the entire unit's worth, never mind one person's. The demons feed off of this, thrive on this. She knows, he knows, everyone knows. They all are tormented by their job, by the things that they see every day. They all lay awake at night, silently watching replays over and over on the smooth plaster of the ceiling, lit like a stage by the city lights.

But she takes it to the heart, tucks it high into her cheek and sucks on it like a peppermint candy, mulls it over and dissects it and analyzes it to the death. She takes it personally but is careful to keep it hidden, careful to remain composed and calm under the eyes of her coworkers. Careful to pretend like nothing is wrong, like she is perfectly fine.

But no one can hear her screaming.

This case had been particularly hard. She didn't even want to think about how it was tormenting her partner, who had children of his own, when it was eating her alive inside out and she didn't even have kids. The computer screen blooms into Technicolor and she doesn't seem to see the letters and symbols set before her, doesn't seem to register them. She's like a robot, automatically manipulating the system to get to where she wants and her fingers begin to fly over the keys, and so intent is her gaze upon the screen that you might think she's just overzealous about the paperwork. But you'd have to have pretty shitty people skills to not pick up on the fact that she was so emotionally fragile right now that the slightest gust of wind was going to bring the house of cards crashing into the dust.

She needs caffeine, and she needs it now. Coffee is horrible for you and shortens your life, and she knows this. Still, she can't help but admire the rich brown sheen of the liquid as it spills into her cup, a brown so deep and dark it's black. She empties two small sugar packets into the mixture, stirring it in before she tests it, seeing if the caffeine-to-sugar ratio meets her standards and it does, so she accepts the cup and brings it back with her, to her desk. Her partner is gone, his chair empty and desk bare, but what else is new. She is alone, and this is what she likes. The precinct is relatively quiet on a Saturday, other cops spending time with their families or grocery shopping or exercising, things that normal people did.

She isn't normal.

Instead, she spends her time catching up on work, flipping past offending pictures and pages of highly detailed medical reports like they were the latest _Us Weekly_. She downs her second and third cups of coffee within the hour and by the second hour her hands are shaking and she's got all sorts of typos across the screen. Disgusted with herself and her inadequacy, she shuts the computer down and splashes the last of her coffee violently into the sink, and some of it splashes up onto her nice new blouse.

_Karma_, she thinks instantly but her mouth opens and she's swearing "_Shit!"_ before her brain has a chance to catch up. Her temper rising to unhealthy levels as she furiously scrubs at the small splatter stains, she bites her bottom lip so hard she tastes blood.

_The blood._

Immediately she sees it across apartment walls, sees the rich dark stain spreading across Winnie the Pooh bed sheets, sees so much of it on the little girl that it must have been painted on. The coffee's doing loops in her stomach and she stops scrubbing, her vision dancing and she's going to be sick if she thinks about this anymore.

"Liv?" She wheels, fighting the nausea, and her fists clench tightly at her sides when she sees who's spoken, who's finally put in an appearance.

_Elliot._

"What?" she snaps back tersely, the polar opposite of what she wanted to say. He recoils slightly, ever so slightly, but after 9 years she can calculate his movements to the T. His eyes, usually the color of the sky on a cloudless summer day, are darkening to match the deepest parts of the sea, where the sunlight has no chance of ever reaching.

_The point of no return._

"You okay?" he asks and she hates him for his pity, for his concern. She hates being pitied, hates being babied, hates attention.

"Fine," she says dismissively, giving up on the coffee stain and grabbing her coat. 70 she paid for that tawdry rag, Burberry label, and it hardly keeps her warm. She needs to go coat shopping.

"Olivia." His voice is louder, impatient, and she spins on her heel so they're face to face, just like old times.

Old times. It hits her like a blow to the stomach.

Her breath catches but she hides it, glaring straight at him, fists clenched so tightly that her short nails are digging into her palms.

"_What?" _she hisses, her voice full of loathing and venom and she's coiled and ready to strike, defensive and angry.

"I'm trying to talk to you, and you're ignoring me." His voice has a playful edge to it, but he's meeting her gaze and the intensity is burning her skin.

"I'm leaving. We can talk about it tomorrow," she snarls, turning away but he catches her wrist and pulls her back and her fist is about ready to sink into his face.

"What the hell is so important?" she explodes, ripping her arm from his grip. Now's she's drawn herself to full height and at 5' 7" she can meet his eyes directly. "I. Need. To. Go. Home." She tries patronizing him, talking down to him like a child, trying to find that old fury. She's poking the beehive with the stick, and she's allergic to bees.

He looks hurt for a split second, but that familiar anger flashes briefly in his eyes and he levels her with one of his looks.

"We have to talk about this case," and his voice is heavy and drawn-out, tired and worn. She doesn't blink. She knows this case isn't easy on him, either. She knows. She does.

"I've got all day tomorrow, Elliot," she spits without thinking and her cheeks heat. _When did she decide to sound so bitchy?_

"Now, Olivia," and she sees, with a sick twinge of satisfaction, he's starting to get annoyed with her. She steps closer to him, eyes blazing.

"I'll see you tomorrow." She spins away and strides down the hall, pushing through the door and out into the drizzle that's starting. She squints up at the New York sky, through the permanent layer of pollution that encases the city like bubble wrap, and looks at the heavy gray clouds, an ominous sign of a storm. She hails a cab immediately and stares out the window, watching the storm's progress.

At least the weather, of all things, matches her mood tonight.

**Tbc…**


	2. Chapter 2Inevitable

A/N: Thank you all for the reviews

**A/N:**** Thank you all for the reviews. They all mean so much to me that you take the time to a) read my story and b) review it. So thank you! ) This chapter's a bit longer. I know the first one was a bit short. A little more E/O, too, for all the shippers I KNOW that are all lurking out there ;) Enjoy, read & review! D**

**No spoilers, but the ending is totally "Burned".**

**Nope, still don't own. Maybe for my birthday? XD**

Chapter Two: Inevitable

By the time she makes it home, the sun has long since set and she's cold and wet. The storm's coming down full force now-shrieking and wailing and pounding New York with its fists.

She honestly feels like doing the same.

Instead, she makes herself a hot cup of coffee and sits on the couch, wet clothes and all, staring into nothing.

And yet, it is everything.

Her thoughts wander first to her partner, wondering what he is doing, if he's still at the precinct, but he doesn't interest her for very long.

Then the inevitable.

The previous case had been child abuse-of course the hardest. The little girl had only been 3.

_No._ Olivia tries to slam the door on these thoughts, push them away, she doesn't need to relive this but the door revolves and comes right back and knocks her backwards so forcefully she can't breathe.

Her name had been Nicole. Her mother had died just last year, and her father had been left in care of her. Signs of abuse had cropped up in preschool-bruises, withdrawal-but once they'd knocked on the door they'd heard screams and they'd _known_.

Olivia slams her eyes shut, but it doesn't stop the flow of pictures parading through her head like a slide show.

Elliot had kicked the door in and she'd taken off at a run, not sure why she was starting to shake or why she was getting so emotionally attached. The room had been easy enough to find; she'd drawn her gun and peeked around the corner.

He had been standing over her, a three year old child, with a knife from the kitchen, a bottle of vodka in his other hand and he was swaying drunkenly. Olivia's stomach had dropped 3 floors and she'd almost pulled the trigger right there, almost emptied her clip on the bastard but she stopped herself.

"_Put it down!" _She'd screamed so loud she could feel Elliot jump behind her. "_Put it down and this will end right now!" _But he was a drunk, and he simply leered at her before turning back to his now-limp child. She'd lunged, Elliot right behind her, but the knife was out of his hand and right at the base of Nicole's throat.

Olivia buries her head in her knees, setting the coffee down before she spills it.

She remembers the feeling: like the blood had been drained from her body, like the world was moving in orbit around her, like time had been stopped, like her heart had been violently ripped from her chest.

Leaving just a hollow form of what had been.

She never wants to feel that way again, and yet she knows it will happen, knows she will do the same thing.

Olivia had automatically, woodenly spun to face the son of a bitch, taking him down with a single shot and her hands had been trembling so violently a stray bullet had hit the ceiling. Elliot had come up behind her, softly, gently, and carefully taken her weapon and turned her around, steering her out while he carried Nicole. She'd walked like a recently blinded person: shuffling, slow steps, eyes glazed. Somehow, Elliot had called a bus-it had been waiting. The siren had bled into her head and the flashing red had just reminded her of the blood painted across Nicole's chest like a third grader's watercolor picture.

She's starting to shake and the tears are burning the backs of her eyes. She shouldn't cry; she needs to be strong, but the sobs are choking her lungs and she can't breathe anymore.

She thinks she stopped breathing that night, two weeks ago.

Elliot, thank God for Elliot. He'd taken her home, and even though she'd been silent, eyes wide and bleak, he'd murmured assurances, telling her they'd tried and sometimes, they just couldn't save them. It had meant to make her feel better, and she appreciated his effort, but it made her want to cry.

_Why did this happen?_

She's suddenly so damned sick of this job that the contents of her stomach are threatening to reveal themselves and she staggers to the bathroom. She hasn't been this upset over a case in months, but she gets a chance to inspect the porcelain up close just as she dreaded she would.

She heaves a sigh and rests her forehead against the welcoming cool of the tub, the pain not subsiding for even a second.

The night has only just begun.

Olivia stirs around midnight, disoriented for a full second before she remembers she's in the bathroom.

And then the pain comes crashing back down on her shoulders, weighing her down so heavily she's not sure she'll ever be able to stand up again. But she's so thirsty and should attempt to make it into her bed, at least. She sighs and, trembling, defies gravity and heaves herself up, wet jeans chafing against skin and she winces. The room spins for a minute, then thankfully rights itself and she shakily walks to the kitchen.

The water hits her stomach and she's back in the bathroom. Eyes watering, she crawls onto the couch, curling up into a fetal ball, trying to ease the churning of her very uncooperative stomach.

Of course, it doesn't ease. Why would anything in life be that easy?

The sheer silence descends upon her and all she can hear is Nicole's screams echoing in her head, reverberating off her skull.

She's definitely going to cry now.

Olivia tries to hold it in, tries to be strong but she's just _sick _of it all and finally gives in, allowing her sobs to shake her and the tears to make rivers down her cheeks. She hasn't cried in years, and she isn't sure she remembers how; but by the way her chest is hiccupping her body does. The sobs ease after a few minutes but she's whimpering now, pulling the blanket over her eyes and wishing she could just die.

_God,_ she scolds herself. _Falling apart like a baby._

She attempts to pull herself back together, wiping her eyes and nose and ready to try the water again. This time she manages to hold it down.

It's nearing 1 in the morning but she's not going to be able to sleep, doesn't think she's ever going to be able to sleep again. In truth, she's exhausted. But the minute her eyes are closed, her mind is going to play that scene back and she's going to wake up screaming.

Just like last night.

And the night before.

She flicks on the TV, listening to the mindless laugh tracks of fake-cheerful late night sitcoms. Pulling the warm afghan across her lap, Olivia stares at the blur of shapes and colors, eyes and mind blank. Her chest hurts, and she's not sure if that's from crying and throwing up, or the case, or both.

_Probably both._

Her cell phone, situated on the end table, chirps and she jumps. It's 2:13 in the morning.

_We must have caught a case,_ she thinks and she's filled with dread as she leans over and reaches for the slim object. She flips it open, not even bothering to read the display, but when she quickly skims the bright screen she sees it's not a call, but a text message.

Coffee?

2:13AM Sun, Mar 24

From: Elliot

It's a peace offering and she knows it, but she smiles anyway, forgetting her earlier irritation. He knows her so well.

Please.

2:14AM Sun, Mar 24

To: Elliot

She sets the phone into her lap, ignoring the cruel throb when she watches a little girl, looking about Nicole's age and appearance, run across the screen and into her TV mother's arms.

A few minutes later, it chimes again. Eyebrow raised, she flips it open.

It's okay, Liv.

2:21AM Sun, Mar 24

From: Elliot

Just those three words, and she's a mess again. Her throat burns and her shoulders are shaking, though somehow she manages to keep it in this time. How, she doesn't know.

_No, Elliot. It's not._

She tries to compose herself enough to write something back.

Yeah.

2:24AM Sun, Mar 24

To: Elliot

He'll know she's upset by the gap in the time. Sure enough, her phone beeps again.

Come on down. I'm waiting.

2:26AM Sun, Mar 24

From: Elliot

She snaps the phone closed, switches off the TV, pushes herself to her feet. It takes all of her mental and emotional strength to slip on flip flops; she inspects her completely soaked jeans, now making her shiver as they dried, and the once-nice blouse that was similarly soaked and clung to her skin.

Gimme just a minute.

2:28AM Sun, Mar 24

To: Elliot

She's started for the bathroom when the phone breaks the silence.

What, you have to look pretty to meet your partner for coffee at 3 in the morning?

2:30AM Sun, Mar 24

From: Elliot

She rolls her eyes and feels a small part of the old Olivia stir.

Don't flatter yourself, Stabler.

2:31AM Sun, Mar 24

To: Elliot

Olivia finds jeans and a sweater; she shuffles her feet into her sheepskin Ugg slippers.

She really doesn't care anymore.

Looking in the mirror, her hair is matted to one side of her face, her eyes are tired and hurting and she basically looks like crap. He's going to give her shit.

She really, _really _doesn't care anymore.

He's waiting, oh so patiently, on the steps of her building. She sits down beside him, quietly, wordlessly, and he doesn't miss a beat, smoothly handing her the cup of coffee.

It's warm and milky, just the way she likes it and she inhales deeply, testing to see if it would upset her stomach. The world stays where it should and she tentatively sips it, blowing out a breath as it warms her from the inside out.

_Too bad it can't make everything better._

Elliot is quiet, and for this she is grateful. It's nice to have companionship, she decides. Every once in a while, she gets lonely.

"It hurts." She jumps at the sound of his voice, and even more so, the _feel _of it, slippery smooth, like the raw yolk of an egg. She's never heard this kind of raw emotion in his voice before. If she has, she's shoved it away, back into her distant memories.

_Damn. _He wants to talk.

"I know," she says back and a sob is woven in between the words. She heaves a breath and swallows the air a few times before she feels like she can breathe again without losing control.

"Stop beating yourself up." His words are quiet and purposeful; when she finally meets his gaze, he's boring into her with those eyes of his, so fiercely she's sure she can feel the heat. They're dark, navy colored, and she knows he's hurting just as bad she is.

He's just better at hiding it.

_Doesn't fall apart every damn second,_ she thinks.

"Olivia-" he starts but she doesn't want to hear it, not now, not ever. She straightens, brushing her hair out of her eyes. It surprises her that he hasn't commented or joked on her appearance, and she thanks the God she doesn't believe in for that.

"Please," she whispers. He falls silent and stands up too, staring her directly in the eyes. She can't look away, can't draw her gaze from the hypnotic pull. They're falling into what used to be.

_I can't do this anymore, Elliot._

_I know, Liv. I know._

_I'm weak._

_So am I._

She finally musters up the courage to look away. She looks beyond Elliot, into the heart of the city. Her breath is foggy in the morning air.

"Thanks," she says simply. She sincerely hopes that he catches onto her innuendo, that she's not just thanking him for the coffee.

By the gentleness in his eyes as he pulls her into a one-armed hug, he does.

"Night, Liv," he says into her hair. And just like that, he's gone.

Olivia smiles into the night, the first one in days.

"Night, El," she breathes and the wind catches the cloudy words and carries them away.

Tbc…


End file.
